


Composed like them, of Eros and of dust.

by lanyon



Category: Captain America, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU: historians, AU: modern era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History is the catalyst, and Steve’s broad shoulders, and poetry is their language and they are not soldiers, and never were, but they are dreamers and heroes too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Composed like them, of Eros and of dust.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beardsley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beardsley/gifts), [haipollai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai/gifts), [Renne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renne/gifts).



> +Beardsley should basically get a co-writing credit on this but thanks to her and to haipollai and Renne for brightening every day for me.  
> +My knowledge of history is not academic and my knowledge of academia is firmly rooted in science so apologies for any errors.

Even without history, Bucky thinks he might have fallen in love with Steve Rogers. History is the catalyst, though.

(Steve’s shoulders are the catalyst, that night in September, as they pass a cigarette back and forth between them and Steve squints at the fairy lights strung up around the yard and says that he is a zoo-keeper.)

Steve fucks him three times that night and Bucky tumbles out of bed at seven the next morning because he can’t be late for the first faculty meeting of the year. He’s new in town, like he tells Steve.

“Good luck with the animals," he says and he doesn’t see Steve’s confused expression as he sinks back down into sticky sheets.

Bucky does not expect it. He knocks on the door of room 616 and straightens his tie and runs his hand through his wet hair. There’s no name on the door but he’s been told that the military history professor is brand new. 

He does not expect it when Steve opens the door. 

They stare at each other.

“What are you-?” they say at the same time.

“Come in,” says Steve. 

“This isn’t a zoo,” says Bucky.

“My colleagues would beg to differ,” says Steve. “Have you ever taught freshmen before?”

“Yes,” says Bucky. “Have you ever had a post-doc assigned to you before?”

“N-no,” says Steve. His shoulders are broad beneath an inexplicably gingham shirt which clashes horribly with his tie. 

“Well,” says Bucky, his voice like ice. “It’s important not to feed the animals. You said you were a zoo-keeper.”

Steve freezes and looks at Bucky uncertainly. His eyelashes are long and dark and there are shadows under his eyes. “We have a meeting with the rest of the faculty in twenty minutes,” he says. 

“I - I have to pee,” says Bucky and he’s half-way out the door before Steve can stop him. 

He texts Toro and Rikki because this is clearly their fault. _u kno that hot blond u guys pushed me @ last nite? hes my supervisor HES MY SUPERVISOR_

Rikki sends back a series of texts of decreasing helpfulness.

_LOL_

_no srsly?_

_hes hot though. sux._

_u gonna blow him in the office?_

Bucky’s blinking at the last, most unsisterly text when his phone rings. Toro’s smiling face flashes up on the screen.

“Seriously, Barnes? You threw yourself at the guy. We neither aided nor abetted. You were all James ‘I don’t need a wingman’ Buchanan Barnes.”

“Not helping, Toro. I - _shit-_ -”

“Look, just. Chill, okay? It’s just a one-night stand, right? This is a new dawn. A new day-”

“I-” Bucky bites his lip. “I think I was kind of hoping it’d be a two night stand. Or maybe three. Or, like, five or six.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Look. I gotta get back. We’ve a meeting or something. I kinda just ran out of his office.”

“Smooth, Barnes. Super-smooth.”

Bucky gets through the meeting and the rest of the day and it’s nothing short of a miracle. Sometimes, he can’t help it. He looks at Steve. Professor Rogers. Who’s softly-spoken and polite. Who everyone listens to. Who has a smile that would make an angel drop his pants (and Bucky’s no angel). Fuck. Bucky’s looking for character flaws and they’re not forthcoming.

Once they’re back in Steve’s office, though, Bucky gestures at him. “That shirt is fucking awful. Did your friends dress you last night?”

Steve blinks at him. “You said your name was Bucky,” he says.

“Uh. It _is_.”

“But you’re James on all your paperwork.”

Bucky stares at him. He knows he doesn’t have to explain the concept of nicknames to Professor Rogers but he doesn’t have time to ponder further because Steve is pressing him up against the door, frosted glass pane and all, and kissing him breathless. 

“Shit,” says Steve, pulling back and wiping his mouth and looking altogether too horrified. “ _Shit_. I can’t - we can’t-”

Bucky shrugs. Right now, he can’t think of a single reason why they can’t. “We’ll be seeing each other all the time,” he says, grasping for a logical argument for why his hand is down Steve’s pants. _Oh_ \- “We - uh - we - close working relationships are good, right?”

“Uh-huh,” says Steve, looking dazed. He’s gazing at Bucky’s lips. 

It makes complete sense. As long as they tell no one - and they promise to tell no one. Not Toro and not Rikki and not Steve’s friends, Sam and Sharon (who totally dressed him last night). Work comes first. Bucky’s got papers to write and he’s not going to fuck it all up for a fuck. 

(“I - I really wanted to work under you,” he whispers, one day, and Steve laughs and looks at him over the rims of his glasses. Bucky’s sprawled out on top of him. They’re belly to belly and Steve rests his book on his chest. There are dust motes floating through the air and the Saturday morning sun shines through a gap in the curtains. 

Steve brushes the backs of his fingers over Bucky’s cheek. “Your resume was most impressive, Dr Barnes,” he says. 

He picks up his book again and reads quietly, “There is no such thing as the State  
And no one exists alone; Hunger allows no choice  
To the citizen or the police;  
We must love one another or die.”

“You’re a fucking stereotype of a gay academic,” says Bucky. 

Steve laughs again. It’s pretty fucking glorious. “Says the guy who came on my chest last night?”

“Yeah, and he’d fucking know.”)

It’s one of those things that’s too good to be true; that they can fuck and read and write together; that Steve can trail his fingers over the inside of Bucky’s thigh as Bucky reads back what he has written. _The conscience and consciousness of the military historian in matters relating to Operation Dynamo cannot be unswayed by the rhetoric of the time_. 

Oh, _oh_ , that Steve can kiss along the line of Bucky’s jaw while he leafs through photocopies of Merchant Navy dispatches.

It’s too good to be true.

One Sunday, Bucky goes for a run with Toro, down by the river. Steve runs towards them, with his dog keeping pace; a massive Tibetan Mastiff called Cap. Cap’s no good at keeping secrets and he rushes up to Bucky as though greeting a long-lost friend. 

Steve struggles to extricate his dog and he keeps running and maybe Toro didn’t see their shared expression of _oh fuck_ and _you look hot_ but Toro’s a smart guy. 

“So, that big-ass dog certainly sniffed the shit out of your crotch.”

Bucky says nothing.

“I reckon his owner was about two seconds from doing the same thing.”

“Please, man, you can’t tell anyone. You - we - I’ve never met anyone like him. He _gets_ me, you know. We might be going to France in July to visit some sites.” Bucky winces at how desperate he sounds.

Toro raises both hands. “Your secret’s safe with me, Barnes, honestly. Just - be safe, yeah?”

They produce three papers; one each semester. They manage to wrangle freshman essays and sophomore tears. They are cordial to each other in public and, for every handshake and friendly smile they exchange, there are two kisses in Steve’s small house, and they rut on the stairs, Steve’s dick hard in the cradle of Bucky’s thighs. Steve’s office door is always ajar and the dean of the faculty stops by regularly. He’s proud of their achievements. 

They go to France. Bucky takes photographs of everything and he treasures the one of Steve, standing at Omaha Beach. They stay in cheap hotels and hostels and they flick through each day’s photographs. They plan their routes and Bucky watches as Steve gets lost in the imaginings of heroics. Sometimes, he thinks that Steve is more of a dreamer than an academic. Sometimes, as he kisses up Steve’s spine, he thinks that he’s more of a hero than a dreamer. He can barely hear Steve’s soft murmur, “Ich will mit dem gehen, den ich liebe.  
Ich will nicht ausrechnen, was es kostet.  
Ich will nicht nachdenken, ob es gut ist.  
Ich will nicht wissen, ob er mich liebt.  
Ich will mit ihm gehen, den ich liebe.”

History is the catalyst, and Steve’s broad shoulders, and poetry is their language and they are not soldiers, and never were, but they are dreamers and heroes too.

**Author's Note:**

> +The first poem read by Steve, and the source of the title, is _September 1 1939_ by WH Auden and the second is _I want to go with the one I love_ by Bertolt Brecht: (I want to go with the one I love.  
>  I do not want to calculate the cost.  
> I do not want to think about whether it's good.  
> I do not want to know whether he loves me.  
> I want to go with whom I love.)


End file.
